“What’s your team’s status? Over.”
“We have sight of the men on the road, sir. We’re chasing ’em down. Over.”
“You catch them, Luke! You hear me? Over.”
“Yes, sir. We’re running hard. Send everyone you can spare as backup, sir. Over.”
“Oh, I’m sending ’em all, Luke. Over.”
“Copy that. Tangos are running hard up the mountain. They’re ’bout a half mile ahead. We’ll engage when we’re in range. Over.”
“We’re no more than five minutes behind you, Luke. We carved a path for the trucks around this mess. Over.”
“Understood. Over and out.”
Larry Reed joined Phoenix while he talked on the radio.
“Is it safe enough for you, uncle?” he asked sarcastically. His uncle nodded, not trusting Phoenix’s mood enough to exchange words with him.
“I want every man that can walk and pull a trigger heading up that mountain right now. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” answered Larry. “What should we do with this mess?” he asked, gesturing to the flaming eighteen-wheelers.
“Leave it for the rats to clean up,” said Phoenix.
Larry began to give orders into his radio and, after several minutes, nearly the entire army shifted to the south toward the Laurel Highland Mountains.
“Uncle! I wanna crush that pack a rats! They’re mine!” Spittle flew from Phoenix’s mouth as he paced back and forth. Fifteen men showed up from the rear and they began to retrieve the bodies from the explosion. To Phoenix, it was wasted effort and he considered telling them to forget it and pursue the enemy. But he reconsidered, figuring he’d look bad as a leader. He took a different tack. “Line ’em up, boys!” he yelled. “If you bury one of your friends, you should kill three of your enemies. Strive for that, boys—kill as many as you can.”
The men around him nodded, understanding his fury. They gave him a wide berth as they tended to and stripped the dead. They found another man slammed into a guardrail by the force of the blast—he was alive, but unable to stand and he made it clear he wouldn’t be able to continue.
“Hey! You,” asked Phoenix, pulling his weapon and walking over. “What good are ya to me?” he asked, aiming his weapon at the man’s head and calmly pulling the trigger. He turned to the group that was left. His voice was calm. “You assholes need to get moving. The guys who killed your buddies are running up the mountainside—go catch ’em.”
They stared at him blankly and he turned to his uncle. “Larry! Your fucking men need to be moving! Right now!”
“I’m on it, Phoenix.” He rushed among his men, giving instructions to help them settle into a focused pursuit of the enemy. “We lost ninety-eight men to that C-4 shit, Phoenix. That leaves us with 317 men. 179 are cavalry and I’ve instructed all to pursue—they’re rolling now and we’ll capture that MacMillen and annihilate him.”
“Remember, I want that asshole in one piece.”
“I know you do. If it’s feasible, I’ll do that.”
“Uncle,” said Phoenix, “if you bring that bastard to me alive, you can name your own price.”
“I’d love to, Phoenix. I don’t know what he has planned—we need to set a reserve group in case we hit another snag.”
“I meant to ask you,” said Phoenix aggressively, “why do we keep hittin’ snags against a twenty-man team? You know why? I’ll tell you why, Uncle. We played their game—playing like we’re pussies. No more! Fuck your reserve—we’re gonna bury these cocksuckers. Right now!”
“Okay, but let me hold back forty men.”
“No. We bury ’em now. Right here, right now.”
“It’s your army.”
“You’re fuckin’ damn right, it is.”
CHAPTER 11.9-The Onslaught
“Here they come, Mac. Over.”
“Copy that. Do your thing, guys. Over.”
Marty’s sniper rounds zipping across the ravine filled the relative quiet. Each spotting cue from BB shifted Marty onto another target. Connor had no doubt that ninety-nine percent of those rounds found enemy flesh or bone. The enemy force had rounded the curve in the roadway and Marty and BB had let a dozen of them appear before beginning their systematic elimination. Marty made each of twelve shots count and when the approaching army retreated to cover, they left behind twelve bodies.
“They’re bringing up their armored trucks, Mac. Over.”
“I read you. It’s what I would do. Take out their tires and radiators. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.”
“Surf Boy, they have a few fifty calibers in that mix based on Captain Daubney’s intel. Make those your priority for now. I don’t wanna have to deal with those big bastards. I haven’t seen them yet, but I’m sure they’re there somewhere. Over.”
“I hear ya, Mac. I’ll keep an eye out for ’em. Over.” BB had taken control of the radio—Marty was fully engaged with the advancing force.
“Don’t miss a chance to take out the drivers of those trucks. Over.”
“Copy that, Mac. Over and out.”
Connor focused on the duo through his binoculars and they were already creating some havoc among Phoenix’s army. Marty shot the driver of one of the trucks through the windshield and the truck lurched forward and nosed into the cliff, crumpling the front end and spewing steam.
The enemy army retreated behind the curve in the road, presumably to consider their options. Connor was on the verge of giving the order to move up the mountain when he caught sight of a flash. “RPG launched!” he yelled into his radio. “Take cover!”
The shot was high, passing the picnic area and hitting the trees a hundred yards beyond their position.
“Here comes another!” Connor yelled.
This one was aimed with more accuracy and came within seventy-five feet of their position, but it was shot too low and exploded below the rim of the ravine.
“The shooters are behind the truck, left of center!” radioed Captain Daubney. He had caught sight of the supine men and their launch tubes, but was unsure how many they had.
“I’m engaging, Surf Boy!” said BB. He gently rested the spotting scope on the ground.
“C’mon, then!” yelled Marty, “I’m okay for now. I got some RPG tangos in sight. Come back and spot ASAP.”
“Yep. I knew it! You need me.”
“Go!”
Though at the edge of the maximum effective range of his M-4, BB grabbed his weapon and carefully let loose a full clip at the truck. His shots held true in the target range striking the cab and front grill. Immediate return fire bellowed forth from the front line of Phoenix’s army. Several rounds landed mere inches from BB. He snatched the radio.
“Shit, Mac, they’re getting a bead. Over.” His spot was fairly hidden from enemy fire by thick boulders and he stayed low. Marty, a few feet away, did the same.
The distinctive sound of a fifty caliber unleashed its echoes across the mountain ravine. A steady barrage of bullets decimated the wooden picnic benches, the trees, the waste containers, and the small restroom facility near their position. The gun churned until it stopped abruptly.
“One down, Mac,” reported BB. “Surf Boy says he got the angle, but claims he was lucky. Over.”
“Copy that. Keep at it. Another man will take his place at the gun. Over.”
“Understood. Surf Boy’s gonna take a shot to disable the gun. Over.”
Connor’s vantage point was too far to the right—he was unable to see the truck with the fifty caliber, but he studied the men hiding behind the second truck. He noticed they were loading another RPG. With an aim honed through years of experience and training for long-range shooting, Connor took concise aim with the M-4. Firing, he watched the shot strike the man in the hips and he fell out of sight. Another man launched from behind the truck. “Incoming!” yelled Connor.